What is lost
can never be found
in the labyrinth of the mind.
What was it you were seeking
in this dark and dusty atmosphere?
Now doomed, you are, to find it;
for you never will escape
The twist and turns of your
mangled memory;
For what path is there to take?
Your string has been cut by the
Brute
Bullheaded
Beast
Turn corners
Just to find dead ends,
Turn back
To find them gone
With every disconnect
recollected before dawn.
Then at the Sun’s behest
The dew turns to rolling fog
And that, which once was settled,
Escapes upon the wind
Mar 12, 2017
Mar 12, 2017 at 4:07 PM UTC
What is lost
can never be found
in the labyrinth of the mind.
What was it you were seeking
in this dark and dusty atmosphere?
Now doomed, you are, to find it;
for you never will escape
The twist and turns of your
mangled memory;
For what path is there to take?
Your string has been cut by the
Brute
Bullheaded
Beast
Turn corners
Just to find dead ends,
Turn back
To find them gone
With every disconnect
recollected before dawn.
Then at the Sun’s behest
The dew turns to rolling fog
And that, which once was settled,
Escapes upon the wind
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